Jill M Roberts’ A Moment of Happiness

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A Moment of Happiness

It started out as an ordinary day,
Any ordinary day in one’s life.
We had probably been out the night before,
This memory escapes me now.
We woke to coffee and cigarettes
As we usually did.

You were on the Gucci site
Showing me the style of suit you had wanted.
We decided to hit Gucci on 5th Avenue.
Parenthetically, if you remember,
I wore sweats and a T-shirt, and you,
You wore your father’s old suit which kept it’s wear.
Here we were, walking toward Gucci,
Debating on whether I should visit Iceland on holiday.

Outside the store,
We were one of the anonymous,
But inside, we stepped into another world,
One of the rich, on 5th Avenue in New York City
Where price tags do not exist.
I remember the elevator ride and our conversation.
Stepping out to be greeted by a salesperson,
Whom I ordered around and kept on his toes due to his thirst for a sale.

A vision of you,
Standing there in the suit chalked up by the tailor.
I handed you a wine glass filled with Pelligrino,
To wash down the Xanax forced into your mouth.
When all was done, we were outside again,
Amongst the anonymous.

Later that night, we sat at the Whiskey Bar celebrating our day.
I remember hearing glimpses of U2’s “Beautiful Day”
In the background and thinking how appropriate.
I thought this was the beginning of happiness,
And there would always be more.
It was happiness, the moment.
All our feelings, yours and mine, all mixed up.
The madness of it all.
You see I wanted to give you it all, the world if possible.
To make you happy, in every viable platform.
I know now you didn’t feel the same.
Left with everything unsaid and undone between us.

Having that one day with you was my moment of happiness.
You have given all you had to offer for me.
For us.
I am here and you are there,
A huge distance between us.
Know, even though we have not spoken,
I am here,
For the conversation, the friendship, the silence.
Remember always what I said to you before I fled to England,
The night we walked the promenade;
Love doesn’t end just because we don’t see one another.
No matter how you look at it,
It’s only Love after all.

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Jill M Roberts’ Losing Innocence

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~ Losing Innocence ~

Why do we risk it all for love?
No matter how exquisite,
Passionate, wonderful it is,
We lose;
Always.
Whether we part for differences or in death,
We lose;
Always.
No matter how much we try to hold on,
Change ourselves or our other,
Govern and protect the relationship,
We lose;
Always.

Thus, why do we do it?
We do it for the moments that will reside with us,
Always.
For the craze and lust.
The fury,
The fervor,
The obsession, infatuation, excitement.
For the zeal, enthusiasm, passion.
We do it for us;
To penetrate over into,
Our partner.

Me and You,
We wanted it all.
None of the pain,
Just the good stuff.
Well, we had it.
The good, the lovely.
What a surprise!
But then,
As Always,
We lost.

We lost ourselves,
Our way.
The rhythm and balance
We perfected.
How did we not see it coming?
Stumbling on to a new realm.
One in which we operate alone.
The composition wrecked.
We smashed into that brick wall.
Afraid to leave,
Co-dependent.
I knew you wanted out.
Maybe a break?
You opposed it.
We could not come back from it.
I could feel the coming loss.
But not in the way I expected.

A trip!
To get us back.
The excitement could mend us.
It did for 72 hours.
Then the ultimate force of depature
Came upon.
In a small elegant English hotel,
You died in my arms
On a Saturday morning in London.
Thirty five hundred miles away from home.

The initial shock blasted my mind and body.
The detonation of torment pierced my soul.
Unadulterated suffering terrorised.
I lost my equilibrium and steadiness.
Embarking in an unknown world,
Where the dwellers seethe with agony.
A spot was saved for me there,
Where fumes suffocate.
A Hell on Earth
Where Innocence is Lost.

E. E. Cummings’ My Love

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my love
thy hair is one kingdom
the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers

thy head is a quick forest
filled with sleeping birds
thy breasts are swarms of white bees
upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring

thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song

my love
thy head is a casket
of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
with victory and with trumpets

thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness

thy lips are satraps in scarlet
in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
thy wrists
are holy
which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
of silver

in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes

thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

~e. e. cummings

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Quote of the Day!

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and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

E.E. Cummings

Edward Estlin “E.E.” Cummings (October 14, 1894 — September 3, 1962) was an American poet, painter, essayist, author, and playwright. His body of work encompasses approximately 2,900 poems, two autobiographical novels, four plays and several essays, as well as numerous drawings and paintings. He is remembered as an eminent voice of 20th century poetry.

I was lucky enough to find an old book store on the Upper West Side of Manhattan a few years ago. There I came across a first edition e.e. cummings collection of poems for $15! What a treasure!

Hope everyone is having a wonderful Saturday wherever you are in the world!
All My Best,
Jill aka 1MorganLeFaye

Our National Anthem’s Poetic Roots

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Oh, say can you hear? A look at our national anthem’s poetic roots
This weekend, many Americans will gather with loved ones to commemorate our country’s heritage by firing up the grill, admiring some fireworks, and attempting to sing one of the most difficult songs in the English language. “Star-Spangled Banner” was adopted as our national anthem in 1931, and its soaring melody and densely packed lyrics have been tripping up those tasked with performing it ever since.

The song’s unusual syntax—which we’ve elaborated on before—can be partially attributed to the fact that it was originally a poem, written by Francis Scott Key in 1814. Indeed, the leap from poet to songwriter seems like a short one, but this factoid about our national anthem got us wondering what other poems have inspired or been set to music.

It turns out many of our greatest poets have had their musical moment in the sun. Emily Dickinson’s poem “Because I could not stop for Death” was set to music by Natalie Merchant in 2005. The Shakespeare-penned song, “Under the Greenwood Tree,” which is performed by Amiens and Jacque in his play As You Like It, was covered by Donovan on his album A Gift from a Flower to a Garden in 1967. But the poet with a particularly deep musical legacy is Edgar Allen Poe. Poe’s work has been inspiring composers and musicians across a broad range of genres for over a century. In 2003, Lou Reed released an album called The Raven that features spoken-word interpretations of Poe’s writing from actors including Steve Buscemi and Willem Dafoe and references to Poe’s work appear in songs from artists ranging from Bob Dylan to the White Stripes.

Oh say can you see the link between poetry and music?

What other poems would you like to hear set to music? And who would you like to perform them?